


toe to toe, back to back, let's go

by alexanger



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Cancer, Gun Violence, M/M, homophobia mention, repeated death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:32:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: lifetimes upon lifetimes - endless lives to live - and in all of them, aaron kills what he loves most.





	1. Chapter 1

“Wait!”

The bullet hits with a sickening sound that Burr can barely hear over the report echoing in his ears. He feels the sound rather than hears it, really - feels the thud mirrored in his own chest.

Hamilton falls.

And there’s a moment of something that overshadows regret, something terrible and nameless and aching, and oh, it hurts. It hurts beyond hurt. Burr can’t think of a single thing worse than this hollow, yawning pit inside of him.

It will follow him. It will haunt him across the years, across forever.

His mouth tastes like guilt and ash.

 

* * *

 

“Sorry,” says the man who’s just bumped into him. Aaron’s bags spill from his arms and he can hear the sound of his eggs breaking, and the man’s face contorts. “Sorry,” he repeats. “Shit, that doesn’t look good. Can I give you a hand?”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, he stoops and starts gathering Aaron’s groceries. The gallon of milk Aaron bought is split and leaking on the ground, and in picking things up, the stranger steps on his lettuce. “Oh, man, I really fucked you over here. Can I replace some of this stuff for you?” he asks.

“I’d appreciate that,” says Aaron stiffly.

The man stands and hands Aaron what remains of his groceries. “I’m Alex,” he says. “Or Alexander if you’re fancy. I’m not, though. Fancy, I mean. Good thing you didn’t get far before I ruined your food expedition.”

It’s true. Aaron just barely made it into the parking lot. Alex makes another face, then says, “come on, I’ll buy you some more groceries.”

“Thanks. I’m Aaron,” Aaron tells him.

“How do you even make a nickname out of Aaron?” Alex asks.

“You don’t,” Aaron says.

“Alright, no nickname. Got it. What am I getting you?”

Aaron leads the way to the eggs and dairy, thinking about the milk spreading in a puddle across the asphalt. He suddenly feels uncomfortable. “Eggs,” he says. “And milk. And lettuce.”

“And my number, maybe?” Alex asks.

Aaron whips around to look at him. He’s not sure what his face is doing but it’s probably something stern and unapproachable because Alex suddenly looks uncomfortable.

Alex puts his hands up and says, “hey, it was just a suggestion. Let’s pretend I never said that, then.”

Truth is, Aaron wouldn’t mind taking his number. He’s just taken aback, a little surprised at his forwardness.

“I guess I shouldn’t spring that on people I don’t know,” Alex says, scuffing his toe against the floor as Aaron opens cartons of eggs to appraise them. “I mean, I don’t know if you’ve got someone in your life already.”

“I don’t,” says Aaron.

“Or if you’re into dudes,” Alex continues.

On that, Aaron stays silent. He has a moment of panic - just like he always does at the prospect of coming out. There’s a sickening moment as he remembers -

Doesn’t matter.

Alex follows him to the produce. He’s surprisingly active - he’s always fidgeting with a little silver thing Aaron can’t get a good look at, or zipping and unzipping his hoodie in rapid movements, or jiggling his leg. “So what do you do for work?” he asks. Aaron wrestles a head of lettuce into a plastic bag.

“Law,” he says. Short. Sharp. He wishes there was a consonant at the end that he could pop. He’d like to make the word sharper, to spit it into Alex’s face so Alex knows he’s not someone whose time should be wasted.

“Oh, sick, that’s a good career,” says Alex. “What kind of law?”

“Criminal defense,” Aaron tells him.

“I’m a writer, myself. I have a column in the paper - an opinion piece - and I’m working on a couple of books. Got one published earlier this year, actually. Maybe you’ve seen it in the stores. It’s called -”

Aaron cuts him off. “I don’t have a ton of time to read for pleasure. I’m sure it’s a great book, though,” he adds, hoping he sounds at least somewhat sincere.

The line for the checkout is unfairly long but Aaron finds he doesn’t mind Alex’s chatter. Not as much as he thought he would, anyway.

“Well, keep an eye out for it,” says Alex. “My last name is Hamilton and the book is called _Teeth Like Jagged Rocks_ and if you ever find a spare minute it’s worth reading. At least, I think so. Then again, I wrote it, so of course I think it’s worth it.”

“Where did that name come from?” Aaron finds himself asking.

“Well, there’s a siren,” says Alex. “And he has these big, sharp teeth, y’know?” He opens his mouth and clicks his teeth together a couple times. “Like, the better to eat you with, and all that shit.”

“Welcome back,” says the cashier, as they reach the till. “Forget something?”

“I had an accident,” says Aaron.

“I’m the accident,” says Alex. “And it’ll be on credit.”

Aaron gives him the smallest of smiles and says, “thank you.”

“No problem.” Alex accepts the bag from the cashier, then hands it to Aaron. They walk to the door in silence. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable - on the contrary, it’s a nice silence. Aaron likes the shape of Alex’s lips when they’re at rest.

“You know, you could walk me to my car,” he says just outside the door.

A slow smile spreads across Alex’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Aaron echoes.

Alex holds out his hand and says, “well, at least let me carry a couple bags for you, then.”

Aaron hands him a bag. “Thanks. I guess you’re not the worst accident in the world.”

“Why, Mr. Aaron, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting,” says Alex, batting his eyelashes.

Aaron swallows. He hasn’t dated anyone since the Incident and he wonders what it might be like to accept Alex’s number. To let him make those advances and maybe reciprocate them. It’s been a very long time.

“This is my car,” he says. He pops the trunk and the pair of them load his groceries in. Alex looks a little lost when all the bags are in, so Aaron reaches out and takes his hand very briefly. He drops it almost immediately, but Alex lights up.

“You could still give me your number,” says Aaron. “If you wanted, I mean.”

“Let me borrow your phone,” says Alex. Aaron hands it over and Alex taps away, then locks it and hands it back. “Here you go. It was really nice bumping into you, Aaron, even if I did ruin your food a little bit.”

“No harm done,” says Aaron. “Thanks for replacing my stuff.”

“Oh, no worries. I’ll see you later. I mean, if you’d like to meet up sometime, that is.” Alex waves a little bit as Aaron gets into his car, then jams his hands into his pockets and wanders away. Aaron can hear him whistling even from inside the car.

He unlocks his phone and glances at what Alex was doing. He’d sent a text - presumably to his own number - that reads, _Ooh mr Hamilton what a beautiful man you are!!!_

As he watches, a reply appears. _Why, thank you, Aaron Lastname. You’re a beautiful man too!_ it says.

Aaron snorts. _Way to put words in my mouth. Coffee this Saturday? I’ll buy._

_Perfect. See you then. Promise not to make you drop things this time._

Pressing his lips to his phone, Aaron contemplates actually going out on a date. Being in public with another man.

The Incident comes back to him, as it often does in times like this.

He shoves the thoughts away. It’s been years, and besides, he’s living in the city now. Not out in a little town. Nothing will go wrong. Things like that don’t happen in the city.

Still, he checks on the gun in the glove compartment.

It’s still there, so everything is fine.

It’s fine.

 

* * *

 

Alex brings a copy of his book with him to their date. “For when you find the time to read it,” he says.

Aaron makes time. He has to admit, it’s very good.

He isn’t above having Alex sign it the next time they go out.

And then there’s a dozen next times, and every time they meet, Aaron finds himself getting more and more swept up in the hurricane that is Alex. He’s smitten with everything about him - his stormy eyes, the way his lips twitch at the corners just before he laughs, the nonstop flow of words that pours from his throat. He’s garrulous and Aaron is reticent and they balance perfectly in that way. Aaron feels like a sounding board and he can’t get enough of it, although occasionally he wishes Alex could just take a break.

But Alex doesn’t slow down. That’s the one constant about him. He can’t seem to stop fidgeting, even in moments where Aaron would think he’d have to calm down. Watching a movie on the couch, for example. Aaron is a cuddler, and Alex had assured him that he’s a cuddler as well, but he always seems to need to do something else at the same time. He’ll jiggle his foot or play with Aaron’s fingers or fiddle with that little silver thing that, Aaron finally sees, is a few links of a bike chain that Alex likes to twiddle back and forth.

“Calm down,” Aaron finally says one night, as the two of them lay wrapped around each other on Aaron’s sofa.

“Can’t,” says Alex. “I gotta move.”

“Can’t you just stay still for, like, five minutes?”

“Nah,” Alex says.

Aaron struggles for a moment, squirming around Alex, and then leans forward and kisses him firmly on the lips. Alex makes a soft choking noise, then draws in air sharply through his nose.

Aaron pulls away. “Was that okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” says Alex. “I just - wow. Didn’t expect you to be the one to kiss me first.”

Aaron places a lot of importance on firsts. He wonders if perhaps there was a better way for them to kiss the first time, if he could have made it more romantic, more meaningful somehow, but he’s done what he’s done and he can’t take it back.

Alex turns in his arms and asks, “can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Aaron breathes. Alex puts a hand on his jaw, angles his face, then kisses him, and it’s soft and sweet and Aaron’s breath catches in his chest. Alex pushes a little harder, then, runs his tongue along Aaron’s lower lip.  Aaron pulls back.

“If you start something now, do you intend to finish it?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” asks Alex. “Like, do you mean -”

“Yeah,” says Aaron.

Alex trails his fingers up and down Aaron’s chest. “I don’t know if I want to go that far tonight, but I like this,” he says.

“You still can’t stop moving, huh,” says Aaron.

“I stopped while you were kissing me,” Alex points out.

“That’s true. I guess I’ll have to keep doing that,” he says, and he kisses Alex again. He peppers small kisses along his lips and then nips at his bottom lip, his hands tangling in Alex’s long raven hair.

Alex pulls back a little. “I really, really like you,” he murmurs against Aaron’s lips. “Like, I _really_ like you. And I really like this. Like, what’s happening between us.”

“The kissing?” Aaron asks.

“The everything,” Alex tells him.

“I like it too,” says Aaron.

“Maybe we should talk about - you know - being exclusive,” suggests Alex.

Aaron laughs. “I’ve only been seeing you. But if you’re talking about a relationship -”

“I am,” Alex cuts in.

“Instead of just casual dating -”

“Oh, yes.”

Aaron laughs again and says, “baby, I’m already there.”

Alex grins. “Oh, good. So it’s not just me, then.”

“Do you -” Aaron pauses, then swallows. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“I’d love that,” says Alex, and he puts his head on Aaron’s chest and cuddles closer.

 

* * *

 

There’s someone in the house.

Aaron doesn’t remember waking up but he’s awake nonetheless, lying prone in bed, motionless with fear. His limbs feel heavy.

He thinks about being beaten, the way it felt to be defenseless, curled around himself against the pipe and the boots, and his breath stops. He can’t get air into his lungs.

Someone in the house means pain. It means being hurt again. He wonders if someone saw them, him and Alex, if someone followed them home, if someone decided to break in and hurt them.

Slowly the blood flows back into his limbs and as soon as he’s able, he rolls over and grabs the gun from the nightstand drawer. Gaybashing, they’d called it. He’s determined that it will never, ever happen to him again.

Maybe it’s just a burglar -

But maybe not.

There’s heavy footsteps coming from the hall and the door is ajar and Aaron aims at that crack, straining his eyes to see in the dark. He knows he’s a good shot - he’d better be with all those hours spent at the range.

“Alex,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on the door. “Alex, wake up and cover your ears.”

The door creaks open and Aaron only takes a moment to adjust his aim and pull the trigger. The sound of the shot is incapacitating and the flash is disorienting and there’s a moment of nothingness, and then Aaron can hear again and a horrible choking noise comes to him.

“Fuck,” Alex spits, and his voice is wet and gurgling.

His voice isn’t coming from the bed. It’s coming from the floor.

Aaron reaches over and switches on the light and there’s spots in his vision but he can see Alex crumpled on the floor, bleeding from the chest. He scrambles out of bed and kneels beside Alex on the floor, presses his hand against the wound, says, “oh, God, oh fuck, oh no, Alex, I’m so sorry -”

Alex grunts and spits blood and looks at Aaron. Aaron can’t read his eyes.

And before he can make it to the phone to call an ambulance, something behind his eyes - some light, some spark - disappears, and Alex stops moving.

There’s a siren. A neighbour must have called the police.

Well, Aaron thinks numbly, as he examines the blood on his hand, he did always tell Alex to be more still.

The world suddenly seems a lot more quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos unshoot alexander. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alex is sick and aaron is helpless.

Aaron sits across from Alex. His hands are flat on the desk in front of him, angled to shield his notes from Alex’s eyes.

“So it’s not good, is it?” Alex asks.

“No,” says Aaron. Why lie?

“How bad is it?”

Aaron is silent for a moment, examining his patient. Alex is dry-eyed but he’s shaking a little. The pain medication must not be working all that well. Or perhaps he’s shaking with emotion, struggling to hold something back. A scream, maybe, or a sob.

“You have two months,” he says finally.

Alex gets up, not without some difficulty. His legs don’t seem to want to hold him. He doesn’t say anything, he just walks to the shelf in Aaron’s office and examines the titles of the books.

“How long did it take you? To become an oncologist, I mean,” says Alex.

“A very long time. There’s a lot of schooling involved, and my residency was four years,” says Aaron.

“So you’re not likely to make a mistake, then. You know your shit, don’t you?”

Aaron shakes his head. “I’ve been wrong before. It’s not uncommon.”

“But you don’t think you’re wrong this time,” Alex says.

“I wish I was,” says Aaron.

“Yeah,” says Alex. “I wish you were too.” He comes back to the desk, lowers himself into the chair, and says, “so what are my options?”

“We can continue treatment, in the hopes that I’m wrong. Or, what I advise, we can make the end of your life as comfortable as possible. There’s no sense continuing to put you through chemo if we don’t have to.”

“And there’s a third option,” Alex says.

Aaron doesn’t reply right away. “There is,” he says finally.

“I’m running out of time,” Alex murmurs. “I always knew I’d die young, but I didn’t think I’d be  _ this _ young.”

“Tell me more about that,” says Aaron.

Instead, Alex asks, “when you’re wrong, what way are you wrong? Like, in what direction? Too much time, or too little?”

“The worst mistake I ever made,” says Aaron, “was giving a man six months, when he wound up having closer to one.”

“So you give people too much time,” Alex pushes.

“Not anymore. I estimate on the lower side, now.”

“So I might have more time than that?”

Aaron reaches across the desk and offers his hand, which Alex takes. “Don’t bank on it, Alex. Put your affairs in order. I’ll do as much as I can for you.”

Alex squeezes his hand and says, “I think I want to keep fighting it.”

“I don’t advise that,” says Aaron.

“I’m not afraid to die, Aaron,” Alex tells him. “I’m afraid of leaving nothing behind. I haven’t done enough.”

“You have three children. You’ve given them as much as you can. Isn’t that enough?” Aaron asks him.

“I also have the aftermath of a messy divorce and four unpublished manuscripts. I guess,” says Alex slowly, “I could finish my last book. Leave it to my ex. She may not like me much anymore but if I asked nicely, maybe she’d publish my books for me.”

“I hope so,” says Aaron.

“I think I’d like to go back to my room now,” Alex says. “Or maybe go outside for a while. I feel - suffocated. I don’t want to be in here anymore.”

That’s when the tears start. Aaron passes Alex a box of tissues with his free hand and Alex angrily scrubs at his face with one.

“I’m  _ not  _ afraid of dying,” he insists.

Aaron isn’t sure he believes him, but he nods anyway. 

“I didn’t think I’d get very far anyway,” Alex continues. “I knew I didn’t have much time.”

“That’s a difficult way to feel,” says Aaron.

“Will you go for a walk with me?” asks Alex.

Aaron glances at the clock on his desk. “Sure,” he says. “Why not? I can’t leave for very long but I’ll go out into the garden with you.”

The two of them stand. Alex takes Aaron’s hand again and mumbles, “helps me balance.”

Aaron doesn’t question it.

 

* * *

 

Alex is laying in bed the next time Aaron visits. He looks pale and thin, his skin ashy, his bones like pilings jutting out from a restless sea. 

“Hey, Aaron,” he says. His voice is hollow.

“Hey, Alex,” says Aaron. They’d dispensed with the formalities early on; Aaron is a doctor who likes that degree of separation, but something in Alex is curiously disarming, and he’d found himself letting his guard down in a strange and unfamiliar way.

“Any updates?” Alex asks.

Aaron shakes his head. “Everything is the same, except -” His voice catches and he pauses a moment before continuing, “we can’t keep on with the treatment, Alex. It’s time to look at end of life options.”

“No,” says Alex.

“Alex, listen -”

“I’m going to fight it,” says Alex, “and I don’t care what you or anyone else has to say about it. I don’t think you’re right. I  _ know _ that if I keep fighting I’ll get through this.”

Aaron looks at the feeding tube jutting out of Alex’s stomach, hooked up to a hopper that’s slowly pumping liquid into him. “What kind of a life is this, Alex?” he asks softly. “We can make it easier for you. More manageable.”

“No,” Alex repeats.

“Alex,” says Aaron, “you’re dying.”

Alex’s breath catches and he puts his face in his hands.

“Prepare for it,” Aaron tells him.

“You don’t know what this is like.” Alex’s voice is muffled through his hands.

“You’re right,” Aaron says, “I don’t. I don’t know what this is like. But I know that it’s time to start preparing. We’ll make you as comfortable as we can, and I’ll be here the whole way.”

“I’m not going to die here hooked up to all these machines,” says Alex.

“We can’t take the feeding tube out, but we’ll remove your CVAD if you’d like, as long as you can keep your meds down,” Aaron tells him.

“I guess I have nothing to lose anymore,” Alex mumbles.

Aaron doesn’t say anything to that. What can he say? He’s been doing this for years but he still never knows exactly what to say. Is there anything of value to say to someone facing down death and knowing how much pain is still to come?

“I want to go home,” says Alex, “but I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

“It’s normal to form an attachment to your doctor,” Aaron says.

Alex laughs and tells him, “calling it an attachment is one way of putting it, yeah.”

Aaron suddenly feels very warm and a little bit unreal, almost transparent, as though, if he looked at his hands, he’d be able to see through to the floor.

“I’ll still be on your support team,” he says. “And that means I’ll be here until the end.”

“You know the really messed up thing?” Alex asks. “I shouldn’t feel this way. You’re basically my executioner. You’re the one telling me I’m gonna die and still…”

He trails off. Aaron waits patiently.

“You really get to know someone when you go through this, I guess. You’ve been here the whole time, and I’ve gotten pretty used to having you around,” says Alex. “More than used to it. I like having you around. And I wish we’d get more chances to talk.”

“Alex, don’t do this,” says Aaron.

“Like I said,” Alex tells him. “I have nothing left to lose.”

“I know what you’re saying, and we can’t do anything about it. I’ll have to leave your support team,” Aaron says. “This complicates things. A lot.”

Alex’s hand shoots out, faster than Aaron would have thought him capable of, and he takes hold of Aaron’s arm. “Don’t abandon me now,” he says. 

“Alex, this isn’t appropriate,” says Aaron.

And Alex looks up at him with big, big eyes, starving eyes, desperate eyes, and says, “don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

And that’s the worst part. He  _ does. _ He’s done a good job of repressing it, but there’s something about Alex, about his sharp edges and his hungry eyes and the motion of his hands and the way his lips work when he talks. There’s something in this dying man that clings tenaciously to life, that takes in the world in gasps. Alex’s lips are parted and he breathes hard. Aaron wonders if it’s difficult for him yet, if he feels the fluid building up in his lungs. He wants to breathe life back into him.

“I can’t, Alex,” he says, although each word aches inside him. “You and I both know how things are going to end. Putting aside entirely that it’s unethical -”

Alex’s shoulders slump. “You don’t need to explain it. No one could want me like this. I understand.”

“Alex, that isn’t it,” Aaron starts, but Alex shakes his head.

“No, I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “maybe I should be seeing a different oncologist after all. Don’t want to complicate things.”

Aaron sighs. “If that’s what you’d prefer. But Alex -”

“I think it’s time to stop treatment,” Alex says, cutting him off. “Isn’t that what you recommended?”

“It is. I’ll refer you to a new oncologist,” says Aaron.

“Thanks. I’d like some privacy now,” Alex tells him.

There’s nothing else to do. Aaron leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock on his door. Aaron, without looking up, calls, “come in.”

One of the residents pokes her head around the door. “There’s a patient who’s asking for you,” she says. “Alexander Hamilton. He says you were working with him for a while.”

“I was,” says Aaron. He checks his calendar. It’s only been six weeks, so maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised that Alex is still alive. He can’t be doing well, though - Aaron isn’t ready to see that face more gaunt and haunted than it was six weeks ago.

“What does he need?” he asks. “He has an oncologist he’s been working with, as far as I know.”

“He specifically asked for you, and he seems ready to raise hell,” says the resident.

Aaron sighs and pushes his chair back from his desk. “What bed is he in?”

“He’s not in a bed,” she starts, and then there’s the sound of a throat being noisily cleared and the door is pushed open a little wider.

“Hey,” says Alex, leaning hard on a walker.

“Alex,” says Aaron. He takes in the bones of Alex’s body, the way his clothes hang off of him, and sighs. “It’s good to see you.”

Alex shakes his head and says, “not like this, it isn’t. Just be up front with me, Aaron.”

“You look like hell,” Aaron admits.

Alex throws his head back and laughs. “Better. You, of course, look as good as ever. Can I come in?”

“Can I stop you?” Aaron asks.

“Absolutely not,” says Alex, and he pushes past the resident, hobbles into the room, and sinks into the chair in front of Aaron’s desk. “It’s just like old times. Ah, the memories we’ve shared in this room. Who could forget that wonderful day when you told me I was dying?”

“Can I do something for you, other than letting you talk at me?” Aaron asks. The words are harsh but his tone is soft and he smiles, a rare thing for him.

“Yeah,” says Alex. “We talked about my options when you gave me the news. Continuing treatment -”

“Stopping treatment,” Aaron adds.

“And - that third option.”

“The third option,” Aaron agrees, and he feels his body go cold.

“I want to take that option,” says Alex.

“Are you sure?” asks Aaron. “A thousand percent?”

Alex doesn’t say anything. He looks out the window behind Aaron. “Do you know,” he says finally, “I didn’t think I’d live past twenty. I had a really rough childhood and things were really fucking hard, and I thought, well, okay, gotta make my peace with dying. I was twelve the first time I honestly thought I was going to die, and then I didn’t. And I figured, shit, it’s just a matter of time, then. It’s gonna get me sooner or later. I told you I’m not afraid to die. I’ve never been afraid to die. I’m just afraid of not leaving anything behind when I go.”

“What changed? You were so adamant about fighting,” says Aaron.

Alex makes eye contact and draws it out until Aaron has to look away. “I got published,” he says finally. “And now I’m ready. There’s just one last thing before I go.”

“What is that?” Aaron asks.

Alex reaches across the desk and Aaron takes his hand. “I don’t need you to lie to me,” says Alex. “I don’t need you to tell me something that isn’t true. I just need to know - what do you really feel for me?”

Aaron closes his eyes and squeezes Alex’s hand. “I feel,” he says slowly, “that you’re a remarkable man and that life has been unkind to you.”

“You know what I mean, Aaron,” Alex says.

Aaron sighs. “I can’t, Alex.”

Alex pulls his hand back and bites his lower lip. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Write the prescription, doc.”

Aaron turns his monitor towards him, types out the prescription, prints it, watches Alex watching him. Alex looks hungry as he signs the paper and hands it over.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Can I stop you?” Aaron says for the second time.

“I don’t want to be alone when I do it, and I don’t want my kids to see their dad like that,” Alex says. “Can you - I mean -” And here he chokes and the words stop, and Aaron just nods.

“Yes,” he says softly. “Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” says Alex. “Okay. Okay - I’ll call you, I guess. Okay.”

“Get home safe,” says Aaron.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did,” says Alex, and he slowly stands and hobbles out of the room.

Aaron doesn’t say another word.

 

* * *

 

Alex dies peacefully.

The prescription always works that way. It’s bitter going down - Alex mixed his into water, not bothering to mask the taste - but it’s a sweet drift into nothingness.

“Feels like sheep,” Alex had murmured towards the end.

“Like sheep,” Aaron had echoed, and he hadn’t had to ask.

“Sheep,” Alex had agreed.

Aaron holds his hand. He knows that Alex’s pulse has stopped. He doesn’t need to look to know there’s no rise and fall in his chest anymore. There’s nothing left of this man to comfort. But Aaron holds on anyway, holds on for dear life, as if afraid that, were he to let go, the world might break loose and spin away into nothing.

Alex’s bedroom is tastefully decorated in creams and soft greens. Aaron takes in the patterning of leaves on the bedspread and thinks of spring, the new growth that erupts from nothing. He thinks of crocuses and snowdrops jutting out from the ground, clinging tenaciously to life through the stormiest part of the season.

There are crocuses growing in Alex’s front garden. Aaron wonders if he’d bothered, in his final days, to take in their beauty, or if they’d been nothing to him.

The nurse says to him, “we should take him now, Dr. Burr.”

“Oh,” is all Aaron says.

He stands and tucks Alex’s hand back against his body. He doesn’t look peaceful. He looks sick and pained, and even now his brow is furrowed with the weight of his illness.

Aaron wants to lean over and kiss his forehead. He wants to smooth what’s left of his thinned hair back from his face. He wants to pull Alex into his arms and hold him.

He does none of these things.

He politely thanks the nurse, collects his things, gets in his car, and drives home.

And when he gets home, he lays flat on his bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes, and he thinks of the word  _ legacy, _ and he fails to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos feed my need for pain. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
